Just Past Good

The coffee's black, a bitter start.

I found the carton, played my part

—a hopeful tilt—to catch a drop.

It barely flowed, about to stop.

A thin, pale wash, it swirled inside,

a cloud of doubt I couldn't hide.

Just barely changed the dark to grey.

Then the date, stared back today.

Yesterday's good, a fragile line.

One day over, seems just fine.

But something shifts, a subtle fear.

This small decay, it feels too near.